


Act 2: Remnants

by balimaria



Series: The L'manburg Chronicles [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 2020 L'Manberg Election on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author is a Toby Smith | Tubbo Apologist, Author is a TommyInnit Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Canonical Character Death, Corruption, Corruption Arc, Distrust, Dream SMP Accurate Politics, Dream SMP Election, Dream Smp, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Elections, Eret Redemption (Video Blogging RPF), Everyone has 3 lives like in canon, Floris | Fundy Has Daddy Issues, Found Family, Gaslighting, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghosts, Hurt Wilbur Soot, Hurt/Comfort, Insane Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt Being a Jerk (Video Blogging RPF), Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Mental Instability, Near Death, On the Run, POV Alternating, Paranoia, Pogtopia, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Redemption, Schlatt is just a great antagonist what can I say, Sleepy Bois Inc. as family, Temporary Character Death, Terrorism, They did nothing wrong your honor, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit Friendship, Traitor Toby Smith | Tubbo, Trauma, Verbal Abuse, Villain Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Wilbur Soot, War, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot is Floris | Fundy's Parent, can i get an "everyone is morally gray" pog, for a while, inaccurate politics, l'manburg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26702488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balimaria/pseuds/balimaria
Summary: (On hold while I work on a surprise!)The war is over. L'manburg is free. The future couldn't be brighter. Right?That's how it should've been. That's what L'manburg's veterans deserved after everything they'd been through. But L'manburg needs an election, needs an official leader, and Wilbur needs to prove he can be trusted. Tensions rise, both in and outside their walls. And when the past starts coming out of the woodwork, L'manburg begins to unravel."You want to be a hero? Then die like one."The election/rebellion arc rewritten. Act 2 of The L'manburg Chronicles, sequel to "Splinters."
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Niki | Nihachu & Eret, Niki | Nihachu & Floris | Fundy, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Jschlatt, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: The L'manburg Chronicles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932613
Comments: 58
Kudos: 339





	1. As All Things Are

**Author's Note:**

> Join the MCYT discord!
> 
> PERMANANT LINK: https://discord.gg/nj5qfunhz6

Things change. It’s a fact of life, whether you choose to accept it or not. Time passes and the earth turns and the beings upon it move and grow and love and change, for better or for worse.

Wilbur Soot can safely say that his nation has changed for the better.

L’manburg had survived the war and bloodshed of its conception and blossomed into a flower with the most beautiful litany of colors. While they would never forget the horror of the revolution or the pain of betrayal or why they flinched when thunder rolled, Wilbur could safely say the nation had healed, and its founders had healed with it. After all, there was no use living in the past when the future was so bright.

Wilbur smiles as he trots down the boardwalk, taking his time to admire the summer flora. He gets a few second glances from the citizens of Dream’s kingdom, some malicious, some not. Wilbur can hardly blame them. His uniform drew the eye. After all, it was meant to mark L’manburg’s residents as individuals - separate, independent, free.

The clopping of horse carriages begins to fade as Wilbur makes his way closer and closer to L’manburg. The blackstone walls peek over the horizon, bringing another smile to Wilbur’s face. Faintly, he can hear laughter ringing out from inside. Tommy and Tubbo, most likely. The two had been closer than ever in recent months, hardly spending a moment apart.

Wilbur pauses, his mood suddenly turning somber. He was happy for the two friends, yes, but he also couldn’t help but feel like they were making up for lost time. The revolution had stolen the wonder from their eyes and the innocence from their hearts. Tubbo trembled in his sleep. Tommy never smiled as much as he used to.

Things change. Not all of them are good.

Wilbur shakes the dark thoughts from his head. He wasn’t going to reflect on such things when the day was so beautiful.

“Wilbur!”

Wilbur glances up, catching a blur of russet out the corner of his eye - Fundy coming barreling towards him out of nowhere. His son skids to a halt just before colliding with Wilbur, words already pouring from his mouth.

“You have got to see this,” Fundy insists. “Tubbo - well, just come on!”

Wilbur huffs, amused. “Damn, Fundy. Where’s the fire?”

Fundy scowls in mock offense. “...Tubbo and Tommy are being wholesome,” the fox says, sour expression slipping away with a sly wink. Wilbur rolls his eyes good naturedly at his son, bringing a smile to both their faces.

“You really should come see, Dad,” Fundy says. “Tommy’s in tears over it.”

Wilbur shrugs with a sigh. “Guess I have no choice, then.”

The duo enter L’manburg’s walls, Fundy dashing excitedly ahead. Wilbur lets himself hang back, taking a moment to marvel the land.

...It had been worth it, in the end. Fighting for a change. Turning a bit of patchy forest into something with meaning, with love. He can’t help but think back. Different place, different time, but the same bonds.

Before Wilbur even has the chance to ponder the idea, Tommy comes bursting out of nowhere.

“WILBUR!” the boy screams. “Fundy told me you’re back! Tubbo is in a box!”

Wilbur isn’t quite sure how to react to that. Left alone, he has no choice but to submit to Tommy’s whims. The boy grabs Wilbur’s uniform sleeve with an iron grip, dragging him towards the lake, talking too fast for Wilbur to understand.

“-and now he’s just sitting in the box doing fuck-all! What a weird guy, honestly...”

At last, Tommy stumbles to halt before a pile of empty wooden crates. They were just leftovers from L’manburg’s trade agreement with the Dream SMP, but apparently Tubbo had managed to find another use for them.

Speaking of which…

“Uh, Tommy… where is Tubbo?” Wilbur asks, raising a hesitant finger.

Tommy grins theatrically. “You’ll see, dear brother. You’ll see…”

Wilbur’s second in command produces a carrot from Sky Gods know where, genially dangling it by the leaves above one of the crates. The box trembles before a tuft of brown hair pokes out.

Wilbur stares for a second before dissolving into laughter. “Oh - oh man, you really weren’t lying!” he wheezes. “It’s Tubbo! In a box! Tubb in a box… Tubbox!”

Identical grins split Tubbo and Tommy’s faces. One look passes between them, before they join in the chorus of laughter.

The sun sets on another day in L’manburg. Wilbur finds himself once more out on the streets of the Greater Dream SMP, wandering down the sparsely populated bricks. It was a warm, dry night, filled with the droning cries of the bullfrogs and the intermittent chirps of the crickets. The torchlight dances in the dark, filling the air with the gentle scent of woodsmoke.

Unconsciously, Wilbur finds his feet taking him to the edge of the kingdom, towards the uninhabited wilderness. The woods are rough, half-dead underbrush spiked through by crooked conifers. Nothing like trust, like home.

Staring into the darkened brush, Wilbur begins to wonder...

What would it be like to be out there? Sure, Wilbur had traveled through it briefly with Tommy and Tubbo when he left Newfoundland behind, but that wasn’t living - that was just walking.

Schlatt would know.

Wilbur feels a pang of guilt clutch at his heart. Schlatt was still out there, still banished, still somewhere… if he wasn’t dead, that is.

Hastily, Wilbur shoves the thoughts to the back of his mind, locking them away and tossing the key. There was nothing he could’ve done for Schlatt, not then and not now. It was time to stop thinking about it.

Wilbur returns to L’manburg soon after, finding the sight of the wilderness less intriguing by the second. He really should be asleep by now, anyways.

From behind him, twin pairs of piercing yellow eyes open, gleaming from between the trees.


	2. April Fool

Wilbur rises early the next day, finding sleep hard to come by. He’d had another nightmare after coming back from the forest. The details are blurry, but he can remember glowing rivulets of lava and a laugh bordering on just the wrong side of maniacal…

Wilbur shakes the memory from his head, letting it slip away like water through his fingers. It didn’t matter in the end. Today was another day in L’manburg, another day of peace. And after everything, that’s all the Wilbur could ask for.

Slowly, he eases himself out of bed, letting his bare feet ghost against the cold spruce floor. Wilbur looks up and, from the corner of his eye, spots a flash of blue - his uniform, hanging freshly washed and ironed upon an armor stand. Wilbur stares at it, feeling strangely detached.

A knock at his door shakes him from his trance. Wilbur glances at the clock on the wall - 4:28 AM. What could anyone want with him at this hour?

“Come in!” Wilbur calls, putting a hand on the switchblade at his bedside. Illegal, maybe, but it was just in case.

The door is nudged open gingerly, with none other than his son stood in its center.

He looks sick.

Wilbur is immediately out of bed, guiding the fox gently to a chair. “D-Dad…” he tries to say, but Wilbur shushes him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes. “You don’t have to talk yet. Just breathe. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Minutes pass, the silence filled only by Fundy’s gradually slowing breaths. Wilbur rubs comforting circles against his back over and over, whispering gentle nothings into the fox’s ear.

At last, Fundy shakes Wilbur off, getting to his feet. “...Thank you,” he sighs. “Sorry, I was just… just reminded of something.”

Wilbur stares at him with concern. “It’s alright,” he says. “You don’t have to explain it. But… are you sure you’re okay? You still seem kind of pale…”

Fundy nods. “Yes, I’m okay.”

Wilbur bites his lip, looking down. “Sure you’re sure?”

”Yes, Dad. I’m fine.” Fundy huffs. “Can we get to the point? I came here for a reason.”

Wilbur reels for a moment at Fundy’s sudden turn of mood, but recovers quickly. He had just been through a lot of stress. “I… of course. What is it?”

Fundy produces a letter, holding it out to Wilbur with a barely disguised tremble.

“You’ve got mail,” he says. “From Dream.”

Wilbur physically feels his heart drop into his stomach. His ears ring, downing out all other noise. His mouth has gone bone dry. He thinks he might throw up.

Wilbur takes the envelope, feeling like he’s moving through concrete. His fingers break through the red wax seal of their own accord, removing the letter but not quite feeling it.

Wilbur knows what he expects to see. “Declaration of War,” written in a neat and tidy font, emblazoned with the kingdom’s grinning seal. It was entirely possible. Maybe their trades hadn’t been suiting the higher ups, or perhaps Tommy had gotten a bit too bold in his clashes with the other SMP members. Slaughtered pets, stolen weapons - any of it could be an incentive. Dream may hate war, but Wilbur knows Dream hates L’manburg more.

His eyes scan the page. He sees none of what he was expecting.

“Official request for an audience with President Wilbur Soot of L’manburg,” Wilbur reads aloud. Fundy freezes, staring at the letter in shock. “At noon,” Wilbur continues. “Within the castle of His Majesty, King Eret. We humbly request that you acquit yourself of any weapons, as we shall be doing the same. Please come by your lonesome. These are matters essential to our nations and must be discussed in private. Thank you for your compliance…. Sir Dream of the Dream SMP.”

Fundy and Wilbur stare at the paper for a very long time, silent but for the wind beating against the windows.

“Dad... you’re not going, right?” Fundy asks, jerking Wilbur from his stupor. “I mean, it’s obviously a trap.”

Wilbur opens his mouth, then shuts it again, still staring at the all-too-real words upon the letter.

“Fundy… I don’t think I have much of a choice,” he whispers.

Fundy’s eyes widen. “What? Yes you do! Just don’t go! Dad-”

Wilbur holds up a hand. “Son, calm. We’re... we're in peacetime. If Dream is truly a man of his word, he won’t attack me.”

Fundy bares his teeth. “Oh, come on! We both know by now that Dream is hardly a ‘man of his word.’” the fox snarls. “You’ll go, and there’ll be a little accident, and then you’ll be dead. That’s not even mentioning that he wants to meet with you in Eret’s castle! He’s basically just telling you to walk off a fucking cliff! And you’re listening!”

Wilbur straightens, giving his son his best glare. “Fundy,” he growls. “You need to restrain yourself. Dream may be a… harsh man, but he still has honor. I’m going to be fine. Besides, if he wanted to kill me, he could’ve done it a long time ago. I’m going.”

Fundy yells in frustration, stalking back and forth across the length of the room. “Am I the only one seeing this?” he screeches. “Are you really just this fucking blind? Ask anyone! Tommy, Tubbo, they’ll both fucking agree! This is suicide, Wil!”

Wilbur ignores Fundy, instead tearing his uniform off its armor stand with rather more force than was necessary.

“Fundy,” he says, voice monotone. “I am going to meet with Dream. We are going to talk. No one is going to die. This is final. Stop arguing.”

Fundy stands with his mouth open and eyebrows knotted in fury. The room crackles with electricity, like the air just before a lightning strike. “Goddammit!” the fox shouts. “You always do this, dad! You always treat me like a fucking child! Believe it or not, I can think for myself! So get your head out your ass and start acting like an actual fucking adult, okay?”

Wilbur feels his ears ring in the silence, something weighted settling in his stomach. Fundy is breathing heavily, his shoulders bobbing up and down with the motion.

“Fundy.”

The fox’s voice trembles ever so slightly as he replies. “Dad?”

Wilbur slides on his uniform with practiced ease, adjusting the shoulder pads until they're just right. He can feel Fundy’s eyes on him, watching his every move.

“Go.”

And Fundy does, not without a pause and a bitter look back.

Wilbur is left alone.

L’manburg’s founder looks at himself in the mirror. Nothing is different. His eyes are still the same shade, his hair the same cut, and yet… something feels ever so slightly off about his reflection.

The clock ticks to 4:40 AM. Wilbur won't be meeting with Dream for hours, but he can feel the air around him grow stale and suffocating. He needs to get out. But he doesn’t want to see Fundy’s face, not so soon.

So Wilbur pushes the window open, slinging his legs over the edge one after the other. The morning dew stripes his boots with water as Wilbur makes his way to the gate. No one stops him - no one else is awake, after all.

Wilbur avoids the prime path, not wanting to risk interacting with any civilians. Instead, he travels along the backroads, making sure to stick to the shadows.

Brick turns to grass beneath his feet. Wilbur can see Eret’s castle, silhouetted against the early dawn. The land begins to tilt upwards, leading Wilbur to the peak of a hill. A silver birch tree sits at its top. A strong sense of deja vu floods Wilbur's veins.

Regardless, Wilbur deems it an isolated enough spot. So he pushes aside the stray sticks and leaves and pats down the grass, making himself a comfortable spot to lay. He positions himself between the tree roots, using the moss-covered wood as a pillow. One leg over the other, he sighs, letting the tension drain from his body.

Leaves rustle in the wind. A crow caws in the distance. The sun rises, interval by interval. Wilbur Soot waits.

\----

Wilbur doesn’t sleep. Though the sun is warm and the birdsong like a lullaby, thoughts of his son still plague him, boring into his mind like lice through wood.

It’s all he can do to count the hours and think of nothing.

What feels like years later, the sun reaches its zenith. Wilbur pushes himself to his feet with a haggard sigh, taking a moment to stretch and brush the grass off his uniform before continuing on his way. Eret’s castle looms in the noonday sun, much closer than Wilbur would have preferred. Regardless, he forces himself to continue walking. Dream wouldn’t appreciate tardiness.

Long, dew-painted grass brushes against the legs of Wilbur’s trousers. Goldenrod flowers bend and sway in the gentle breeze. Far in the distance, music plays. Step after step, the ground beneath Wilbur’s feet turns to brick. The sun falls behind the shadow of the castle, hesitant rays still playing at the edges of the walls. The air runs cold.

Wilbur looks up. Tall, sturdy doors of knotted oak hinder his path, the only thing between him and the two people who had hurt him the most. With a noticeable tremble, Wilbur reaches out and gives the golden knocker a rap. The sound echoes once through the courtyard, though it is much longer in Wilbur’s ears.

He waits, hand on the switchblade he’d hidden inside his pocket.

Without a hint of warning, the doors swing open, revealing a crown of gold and a cape of red and two eyes as empty and white as the moon.

Eret stares at him for much longer than would be considered polite. Wilbur doesn’t care. There wasn’t anything Eret had done that Wilbur would classify under polite.

The silence stretches on. Wilbur’s eyes flick to the walls, half-expecting them to slide open, just as they had months ago.

“Wilbur,” Eret finally says.

Wilbur’s eyes narrow to slits. “My title is President Soot, your Majesty.”

Eret opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again. “I… of course. My apologies.”

“No need to apologize to me, your Majesty.”

Something breaks in Eret’s eyes, but Wilbur doesn’t care. Betrayal of his nation wasn't to be treated with kindness. The king can throw as many pity parties as he wants, but Wilbur's here to see Dream and Dream alone.

“Excuse me, your Majesty,” Wilbur says flatly. “I believe Dream has an audience with me. I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

Eret hesitates, but steps aside.

The interior of the castle is emptier than the outside would suggest. Sure, the stained glass windows cast beautiful rainbow patterns across the brick floors, but that was really the only bit of color the place could put a claim to. Most everything else was some shade of stone or wood.

Wilbur can feel Eret’s gaze boring into his neck. Hurriedly, he moves along.

The halls are long and desolate, only adorned with the occasional curtain of royal red. Maybe, under different circumstances, Wilbur would’ve used its emptiness to spite Eret, but now he just finds himself cursing the lack of landmarks and its maze-like construction.

Pissed off, Wilbur starts flinging doors open at random. Kitchens and armories and bedrooms all pass by in a blur, repeating over and over again as Wilbur begins to accidentally travel in circles. He rounds a corner, continuing his search. First door. Drawing room. Second door. Conference room. Third door-

Wilbur freezes in place, his eyes catching on the flash of gold and red.

Third door. Throne room.

A feeling Wilbur doesn’t quite recognize grips his heart with iron claws. Almost against his will, he finds himself stepping inside. His gaze rakes over the royal banners, stamped with the SMP’s seal, the windows that filter the noonday sun into a bright myriad of colors across the gleaming quartz floor. Finally, his eyes trail up to the seat of gold, sitting at the back and center of the polished hall.

It looks beautiful. It looks miserable. He wants it. He hates it.

_ “Down with the revolution. It was never meant to be." _

A touch on his shoulder violently pulls Wilbur from his thoughts. He whirls around, one hand on his switchblade and the other up and ready against offending intruder-

_ “The duel will now commence. I will count to ten paces, and when I say ‘fire,’ you will turn and shoot. You have one arrow. We will now begin…” _

“President Soot,” Dream greets.

_ “One, two, three, four…” _

Wilbur forcibly relaxes, subtly easing his hand out of his pocket. “Hello, Dream. A pleasure, as always.”

Dream is still, his face hidden and unreadable. “This room is off-limits to all but his Majesty, King Eret. Why are you here?”

_ “Five, six, seven, eight…” _

Wilbur’s lips tighten, his uniform rubbing uncomfortably against his skin. “Apologies. I got lost trying to find you, and accidentally wandered in. I was about to leave.”

_ “Nine…” _

Dream tilts his head. “Were you, now? Here, knife in hand, inside the throne room of our king-”

A pulse of anger flares through Wilbur’s mind, leaving no room for thoughts of consequence.

_ “Ten paces, fire!” _

“Your king,” he corrects.

The silence stretches on and on and on. The air crackles with tension.

Dream remains deathly still as he finally speaks, voice ever so slightly strained.

“...Of course. That is actually why I have called you here today, President Soot. Would you care to follow me to somewhere more appropriate?”

Wilbur says nothing as he walks in Dream’s wake, panic still thrumming hot and fiery through his veins. Each footfall rings in his ears, full of a million things once said and done that never dulled or faded or left.

What if it was a ploy? What if Dream wanted to lure him away from L’manburg so one of his lackeys could finally finish him off?

_ Pull it together. If Dream wanted to kill you, he could’ve done it already. _

A hostage, then. Cut the snake off by the head and leave the body blind and writhing.

_ Don’t be paranoid. The war ended years ago. Move on. _

“After you, Soot.”

Wilbur doesn’t allow himself to hesitate before stepping inside the conference room. Hesitance was weakness, and weakness in front of Dream was death. So he enters, hurriedly taking a seat at one end of the shining oak table. Dream takes his place at the opposite end, one hand folded neatly atop the other.

“I won’t delay with pleasantries,” he begins. “My people are upset.”

Wilbur bites his cheek, forcibly keeping his hands from twitching nervously. “With all due respect, Dream, I don’t see what that has to do with me or L’manburg,” he argues. “Need I remind you that, in the terms of our peace treaty, L’manburg is recognized as an independent nation from the Greater Dream SMP.”

Dream stays unnaturally still as he responds. “That is true, but I would also like to direct your attention towards the section of our treaty that dictates L’manburg as still being within the borders of the SMP, if not the same kingdom. During our negotiations after the war you fully agreed to these terms. Hence why I have brought you here today.”

Wilbur narrows his eyes. The only reason he’d agreed to those terms were because he knew Dream would never allow him full control.

_ Selfish prick. _

Nevertheless, Wilbur nods in agreement. “That is true. Please continue, Dream.”

Dream stands from his chair, idly moving to inspect a map of the SMP hung on the wall. “President Soot, who is the leader of your nation?”

Wilbur blinks. Of anything Dream could’ve asked, this seemed the most… random.

“...Well, I am. We're an autocracy."

Dream hums thoughtfully, tracing a finger along the drawn-in borders that marked L’manburg on the map. “Are you sure?”

Wilbur feels a coil of anger wrap around his heart. His switchblade weighs heavy in his pocket.

“Dream, if you’re trying to find some kind of loophole-”

Dream holds up a placating hand. “No, Soot. Tommy and I made a fair trade. You are your own nation. Emancipated, independent, free, whatever you want. I simply ask because… well, I’ll put this kindly. You’re the only one who seems to think you’re the leader.”

Wilbur jerks to his feet. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” he snarls.

Dream sighs from beneath his mask. “I know how this sounds, but I promise I don't mean to antagonize you. Just hear me out.”

Dream sits back down, gesturing for Wilbur to do the same. He does, not without a bitter glare.

“You may have conceived L’manburg and installed yourself as... president, but it was Tommy who won its independence. He dueled me, he gave up his disks, he was the driving force during peace negotiations, the list goes on. Even now, my people see him as the face of your nation. And yet, he still claims he is no more than your right hand man. Everyone is confused, myself included. Our trade agreement is beginning to fall apart. No one knows who to go to. I have tried to control the situation quietly, but it’s starting to reach a breaking point. Something has to be done.”

Wilbur’s mind churns, a whirlpool of every bit of information Dream had dumped on him at once.

“But… we negotiated that treaty for weeks. It’s perfect. I’ve never heard a single complaint about it before now.” he argues, pointedly looking down at his hands. The crude black eyes of Dream’s mask bore into his downturned gaze.

He smiles. He always smiles.

“My control reaches further than you may think.”

_ Okay. Ominous. That’s fine. _

“So what do you want me to do?”

“You need an official king, President Soot,” Dream rumbles, leaning in. “A coronation, a crown, a title - the works. Make sure no one can deny that you are the leader.”

The silence pounds in his ears. Wilbur bares his teeth, a cold fire sparking in his chest.

“You want us to be like you.”

It’s not a question.

Dream cocks his head, trailing a finger down the edge of his mask. “President, the only thing I want is the best for our country’s relations.”

Wilbur scoffs. “Listen, Dream. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I’m not getting caught in it. Do what you must, but leave L’manburg out of it.”

“Wilbur.”

_ Dream never calls me that. _

“I understand your concerns. I know that we have never been friends and we never will. But if there’s one thing I’d have you trust me on, it’s this. If you don’t coronate a king, you are gearing up for another war, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“What about Eret, then?” he asks, trying not to let his anger leak into his voice. “He’s the king of the SMP. Surely he can do something.”

Dream sighs. “Soot, the hierarchy of this SMP is more complex than it looks. I pay attention to my people. I am aware some think I was wrong for starting a war or that I was wrong for letting you win-”

Wilbur interrupts, scraping his nails down the wood of the table. “You didn’t  _ let  _ us win anything.”

“Soot,” Dream commands, his voice abruptly stern. “Please be civil. This problem isn’t just affecting you.”

Wilbur casts his gaze down, shrinking in on himself. “Right. Please continue.”

“...Some think I was wrong for letting you win. Either way, they aren’t very fond of me. Making Eret king in my place was a strategic move. My people like him, they agree with him. As long as he stays on the throne, peace between me and my citizens remains. We stay a family. But he doesn’t hold any true power or influence. There’s not a thing he can do for you.”

Wilbur huffs. “So you’re using him.”

Dream shrugs, making a noncommittal noise. “If that’s how you want to see it, then sure.”

“What’s stopping me from announcing this to your whole kingdom, then?” Wilbur argues, raising an eyebrow.

For the first time, Dream laughs. “Oh, Soot. You really think they’d believe you?”

His spark of hope blows out.

“No. No, I don’t.”

Dream stands once more, striding towards him, his mask half shadowed by the torchlight.

“Then I recommend we get back on track.”

Wilbur runs a hand through his hair, not even bothering to hide his nerves. He hates this. He hates Dream. He hates himself.

“You know what? Fine,” he snaps. “If you want a king, then you’ll get a king. But-” Wilbur stands to meet Dream eye to eye, his uniform glowing in the meager torchlight. “I’m not like you. If L’manburg is to have an official leader, then that leader is going to be a democratically elected president. Do you understand?”

Wilbur stares daggers into Dream’s mask, letting him know that there was no room for negotiation.

Dream pauses, then nods to himself. “As you wish, Soot.”

They shake on it. Outside, the sun begins to set, casting the world in a blinding golden glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh... whoops...? We're getting into the angst quicker than I thought...


	3. Icarus

Wilbur pushes open the castle doors with more force than would be considered necessary, letting the fresh evening air billow over him, cleansing his skin of the lingering prickle of Dream’s gaze.

_ What a trainwreck. _

Wilbur sighs, rubbing a hand against his throbbing head. No use dwelling on it now. He has to get back to L’manburg and break the news.

He takes a step, boots light against the brick.

(He wonders briefly how many times Eret had made the same motion in this very spot.)

Hurriedly, Wilbur keeps walking, shoving the idea to the back of his mind. He has more important things to think about.

About halfway through the walk home, Wilbur finds himself stopped by a small whisper coming from behind a house. Curious, he makes his way towards it, peeking around the corner to see who was there. A smile graces his face at the sight of two children. One boy and one girl. Siblings, most likely. They stare up at Wilbur with wide, bewildered eyes. He’s instantly charmed.

“Hi,” Wilbur greets, crouching down to their height. “What are you two doing out here? It’s getting late.”

The little girl speaks up first, nervously tucking a lock of ginger hair behind her ear. “Um, we saw your uniform and got curious… you’re from L’manburg, right?”

Wilbur nods. “That’s correct.”

The boy pipes up. “Mommy told us not to talk to the people in blue coats.”

Wilbur feels the smile fade from his face. Was this Dream’s doing? Why? What was he trying to accomplish?

“Why’s that?” he asks, doing his best to not seem aggressive. The girl shuffles from foot to foot, once more playing with her hair.

“She told us you were… you were…”

“Evil,” the boy finishes softly. “That’s what she said.”

Wilbur feels a coil of sadness wrap around his heart. He doesn’t necessarily care about what the Dream SMP thinks of him, but these are just kids. Kids like Tommy. Kids like Tubbo. Like  _ Fundy _ .

He doesn’t know what to say.

“That’s not true,” Wilbur improvises. “All I wanted was to make somewhere that people can be happy.”

The boy’s face remains stony. “Why weren’t you happy here?”

That gives Wilbur pause. “I…”

A clanging from behind him interrupts his sentence. He spins around, coat billowing in the evening air. There’s a woman standing in front of him, her lanky form silhouetted before the torchlight.

“Get away from them,” she hisses, malice in her voice. “Fuckin’ bluecoat scum. Don’t you dare touch them.”

Wilbur knows better than to mess with a mother, no matter how he might… disagree with her opinions. So he runs, the prickle of three pairs of eyes setting his hair on end.

He makes it back to L’manburg’s gates nearly half an hour later, trying to put the encounter behind him. The walk wasn’t actually that long, but he kept letting himself get distracted but the tiniest things. A ladybug crawling up a leaf, geese flying south, a tomcat hunting mice in the streets. Anything to delay the inevitable.

Wilbur puts a hand on the blackstone walls, letting the cool brick soothe him. It had been a stressful day, between Fundy and Dream and the two kids. He really wishes he could just go to sleep.

_ Tell them about the election, answer any questions, then leave. That’s all you have to do. _

With a deep breath in to collect himself, Wilbur passes through the gates.

Tommy is the first one to see him. There’s grass tangled in his hair, like he’d been sitting outside for a very long time. “Wilbur, where the fuck were you?” he yells, hands waving wildly. “We’ve been worried sick!”

Wilbur blinks. “Fundy didn’t tell you?”

The blond scoffs, annoyance masking the genuine emotion in his voice. “No, the little prick. All he said was that you were ‘doing something stupid,’ whatever the hell that means.”

Wilbur clenches his teeth. They may have had a disagreement, but there was no reason for Fundy to go out of his way to piss him off. For the moment, he puts the thought aside.

“Well, I’m here now,” Wilbur reassures, patting Tommy’s hair with a small smile. “I do have some news, though. Where’s everyone else?”

Tommy shrugs. “Fuck if I know. Probably inside.”

Wilbur doesn’t say another word, instead gesturing for Tommy to follow him inside L’manburg’s house. The door opens silently, letting the two enter freely. Wilbur doesn’t even have to look to find the rest of his citizens - Tubbo and Fundy are already gathered around the dinner table. One of them looks worried. One of them looks pissed.

Tubbo opens his mouth to speak, relief in her eyes. Fundy gets there first.

“Finally decided to show up again, huh?”

Wilbur scowls. “Son. Tommy said that you didn’t tell anyone where I’d gone. Why?”

Fundy drags a claw down the spruce table. “You never asked me to.”

Wilbur strides forward. “Fundy, don’t be petty-”

Fundy is out of his chair in a second. “Oh, I’m the petty one-?”

“Guys, stop it,” Tubbo pleads. “Wilbur’s fine. There’s no need to get heated. It’s in the past.”

The air crackles with tension, but Fundy obeys.

Tubbo raises a finger. “Um… that being said, where were you?”

Fundy rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath. Wilbur promptly ignores him, gearing himself up for what was coming.

“I was meeting with Dream.”

Wilbur braces for a blowout, but is met only with silence and shocked faces. With nothing to do but continue speaking, Wilbur opens his mouth.

“He sent me a letter this morning requesting an audience. After some consideration, I accepted. When I arrived, he told me that there’s been some… unrest in the kingdom.”

Pause. Breathe.

“Long story short, Dream wanted us to coronate a king. I compromised with an election for the role of president. There’s not a reason to be concerned, though - unless I am severely mistaken, I don’t think any of you desire the position.”

Pause. Breathe. You’re in control.

“Regardless, I plan on keeping the ballot open for only a short time anyways. I believe it’s in our best interest to get this over with as quickly as possible. Now, are there any questions?”

Stop. Breathe. Wilbur meets each of his citizen’s gazes. Somehow, he can’t identify any of the emotions in their eyes.

At the moment, he doesn’t care. Everything he had to deal with could be dealt with tomorrow. Right now, he just wants to sleep.

So he does. He turns, walks up the stairs, blows out the candle, and collapses fully-clothed into bed.

When he finally falls asleep, not a single dream plays through his mind.


	4. The Hourglass

**ONE-PARTY L’MANBURGIAN ELECTION?**

(9.3.20)

In an interview conducted this morning with incumbent president Wilbur Soot (esq.) it was announced that the nation of L’manburg will be holding a democratic election - an event never before seen in the history of the Dream SMP - in order to determine an official president of the emergent nation. When questioned on the reasoning of this surprise announcement, Mr. Soot claimed that he wished to “solidify [his] power in a fair and official manner.” However, Mr. Soot later said that his party (consisting of himself and his vice, one Mr. Tommyinnit) are currently the only runners - and that candidate registration would only be open for the minimum 48 hours required. Additionally, Mr. Soot was seen entering the castle of his Majesty, King Eret, only a day before the announcement. Is it possible that he is in cahoots with the traitor-turned-royalty? And why hold an election now, of all times? What secrets hide behind the closed walls of L’manburg?

When questioned, founder and former king Dream offered no comment.

-Full Wilbur Soot interview: pg. 2 (Politics)

-Summary of the L’manburgian Revolution: pg. 3 (Politics)

-The inner workings of a Democracy: pg. 4 (Politics)

-Open markets within the Dream SMP: pg. 5 (Business)

-Eret vs. Dream: Who wore it better?: pg. 6 (Fashion)

\----

Wilbur lets out an annoyed huff as he stares down at his empty inkpot. Fantastic. He had just been getting into the new rhythm of all this election paperwork and now he’d gotten interrupted by nothing other than a fucking ink deficiency. Just his luck.

Wilbur stands from his chair, wincing as his stiff muscles ache in protest. At least it would do him good to get some fresh air. Stretching as he walks, Wilbur pushes open the door, padding down the silent corridors, making his way towards the exit. Even with the gentle crackle of the fire in the corner, he can still feel the cool draft from under the door. The seasons were changing already. Funny, how fast time seemed to fly these days.

Regardless, he pushes the door open and steps outside. It’s a beautiful day, despite the cold. The air is still and the sky is bright and the walls stand as tall and strong as ever. Wilbur smiles as he blinks the sun from his eyes. He’d fought a war for this land, he could sure as hell buy some ink for it too.

“Not going to meet with more tyrants, are you?” Tubbo calls as Wilbur lets the door fall shut behind him. The boy is sitting alone under a redwood tree, playing some game or another with himself.

Wilbur huffs, trying for a smile. “No, Tubbo. Just off to buy some ink. I’ll be back soon.”

Tubbo gives him a beaming smile, instantly melting any annoyance. “Bye then, Wil!” he says with a wave. “Get some butterscotch for Tommy if you see any, okay?”

Wilbur nods, giving the boy an affectionate smile. “Will do.”

Pulling his uniform a little closer to his body, Wilbur begins to make his way into the mainland. He takes his time admiring the architecture, ignoring all of the second glances from the merchants and pedestrians. Despite the kingdom’s… disorganization, Wilbur had to give Sam credit where it was due - he was a pretty good builder.

Finally finding himself in the more business-oriented side of things, Wilbur stops looking at houses and starts looking for anyone who was selling inkpots (or butterscotch.) He lets his fingers drag along the rough oak of the stalls, secretly enjoying the dirty looks their owners were shooting him. Wilbur nearly laughs at the one who cusses him out - it was such a freeing feeling. What could they do to him? His time in their country had been short and dissatisfactory, and he did not intend on going back. No pointless elections were going to change that. He’s the conductor and L’manburg his symphony.

Out the corner of his eye, Wilbur spots a rack of bottles. It’s mostly basic potions, but he does see a few bottles too thick and dark to be anything but ink. He makes his way towards it, giving the merchant a smile. He’s a well-off fellow, bright eyed and wearing a tasteful beanie (though perhaps that was simply his own fashion sense talking.) Wilbur is reminded affectionately of Tommy.

“Hello sir,” Wilbur greets. “Two bottles of ink please.”

The merchant grunts, reaching under the stall to pull up his request. “That’ll be three emeralds.”

Wilbur digs the small polished gems from his coat, handing them to the man and gathering the bottles into his arms.

“So, you're that Soot guy, huh?”

Wilbur pauses just as he’s about to thank him and leave. The man is staring at him, one of the emeralds playing at his fingertips. Wilbur is instantly unsettled.

“...Yes,” he replies tentatively. “I’m Wilbur Soot. Is… there something you’d like to say?

“I read about your election in the paper today.”

The man stands, Wilbur takes an instinctive step back. He can feel the people behind him begin to stare, so he dodges the comment.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Alex, but call me Quackity,” he says, tone flinty. “And what about you, Soot? You gonna be goin’ by Mr. President?"

The street gets quieter. Wilbur starts to feel hot.

“Very democratic of you,” Quackity continues, “To have an election with - oh, let me count- one whole party. Why can’t any of us run, huh?”

Wilbur steels himself, knowing he needs to diffuse the situation before it grows out of control.

_Just think. What would Phil do?_

Raising his voice so he can be heard by everyone listening, Wilbur speaks. “You can’t run for president of L’manburg because none of you are citizens of L’manburg. I should’ve thought that obvious.”

Quackity laughs - it’s a loud, raucous thing. “Obvious my ass, Soot,” he shouts, pointing his finger accusingly. “You know none of your citizens would dare run against you. This is all just some sick power play to prove you're the boss."

Wilbur hears a smattering of applause from behind him. He needs to think of something, and fast.

“What do you want, then?” he asks, instantly flinching at his almost petulant tone. “What can I do?”

Quackity freezes, a wide smile eventually blooming across his face.

“What do I want? What do I want?” Quackity’s voice grows louder with each word until it’s echoing through the marketplace. “I just want some fucking peace! While your ass is off living in fairyland, you’ve left all of us to deal with the aftermath of your war! What, did you not think running a country would be hard? Did you think you could use some kids for your drug cartel and then cover it up by being "independent?" Did you think you could escape consequence just because you put on a blue fucking coat? You tout freedom when your “nation” isn’t even any better than ours. Put some back into it, Soot! You’re a smear on this whole fucking region! ”

There’s an uproar of cheers resounding through the marketplace.

_“I won’t delay with pleasantries, Soot. My people are upset.”_

_You should’ve listened._

The bottles in his arms slip and shatter on the brick, streaking his boots with midnight ink.

“...I’ll consider it.”

Wilbur Soot books it. He knows he’s moving way too fast to seem composed, but at the moment he can’t bring himself to care.

“Sorry Tommy,” he says to himself, seeing the walls peek over the horizon. “No butterscotch today.”

\----

L’manburg is just as he left it. Bright skies and a quiet breeze - it’s a bitter reminder of the peace he’d felt only an hour earlier.

“Hey Wil, welcome home!”

Wilbur promptly ignores Tubbo’s greeting, instead rushing into their house and slamming the door. It’s rude, and Tubbo will be worried, but he just has to get away.

As soon as he’s out of sight, Wilbur falls to the floor, letting his coat slip off his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck.”

_They don't trust you. They won't listen to you. It's going to happen again. There will be nothing left._

“Hey Wil! Didja get your ink?”

Wilbur raises his head, watching as Tommy’s expression falls at the sight. “I… woah, are you alright?”

He sighs, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Sorry Toms, this whole thing’s just got me stressed.”

Tommy smiles reassuringly. “Ah, this whole election deal? Don’t worry about it, big man! You’re the only one becoming president! We scammed those people good!”

Wilbur feels his heart sink down, down, down.

“Yeah… we sure did, Toms. We sure did.”


	5. N/A

IGNORE THIS. IM REFORMATTING CHAPTERS BUT I DIDN'T WANT TO DELETE YA'LLS LOVLEY COMMENTS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join the MCYT discord!
> 
> PERMANANT LINK: https://discord.gg/nj5qfunhz6


	6. update! (NOT a discontinuation)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> big plans! please read :]

Hey yall. im gonna be reworking this fic a bit to flow better with the new lore (as i must continue to do fucking sobs) so i have a few things i wanna change. I do want to put it past yall first tho! so here ya go:

1\. While I do want this to be at least relatively accurate to canon, there are a bunch of things im changing either for brevity or just to make it a better story. So, while I hate to say it, I will likely be removing Jack and Niki from L'manburg. I think they have a lot of potential, but (at least at this point) they don't have enough content for me to make a satisfying character arc. Niki is still gonna be IN the fic, but she isn't going to be part of Coconut2020 (psst... read the prologue for niki content too). Jack will likely be cut (I am cutting a few other characters as well ((except for cameos maybe)) like hbomb, purpled, lazar, etc. I promise I don't hate them lmaoo its just for the sake of my sanity.) That all being said, I am still open to suggestions!

2\. Having said the above, I should also probably say that this rewrite will be focusing mainly on Tommy, Tubbo, and Wilbur, as I think they are the "main characters" (even though dsmp doesn't have a main character they are all main characters in this essay i will-) Those three will have the most development, but be assured that the others aren't being left out! Pretty much everyone who has seriously roleplayed (and george) will have their own arcs.

3\. This fic will be continued once all of the prologue is out. Yes, the order of everything is a mess. I started this before the fucking election cut me some slack-

4\. As you might have already been able to tell, this version of the smp is an actual city of sorts. I honestly don't have anything to say about this I just really believe in worldbuilding and also writing a loyal but new and interesting rewrite.

That's all for now. Leave your thoughts below! Til next time.


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